Slut
by prcstntt
Summary: Sincere smiles, dutiful greetings, looks - greedy, curious, amazed, dirty, cold, and whispers behind her back. A normal reaction to her rare visits. Overhearing someone whispering:' What a slut', the woman smiled ironically, but not without satisfaction.
1. Chapter 1

Slut

Показать бы тебе, насмешнице  
И любимице всех друзей,  
Царскосельской весёлой грешнице,  
Что случилось с жизнью твоей…

Анна Ахматова

A woman walked out of the Assistant's Minister of Magic office, it seemed like she was floating.

Young secretary disdainfully pursed her lips: what do they all see in this old mudbloody slut? She's really neither fish nor flesh... So she's a war hero, big deal. And Hogwarts's headmistress, so what. So what, if she doesn't have enough place on her chest to put all of those medals, she doesn't even have boobs to speak of! Gryffindor bitch. Everybody knows how she made her career. They say she even slept with a Minister himself... That's just gossip, ok, but she definitely slept with Assistant Minister. She wouldn't have worn that silver comb encrusted with emeralds for two months in her hair otherwise. Who else but Lord Malfoy would have gotten that? Even magazines are afraid to publish anything about this fucking reptile: they say she was the Head of the Unspeakables and played with Dark Magic, so now everyone is terrified of saying even one word wrong... And she has a Minister on a string, walks in any office without knocking, Aurors are practically kissing her feet, the school just worships her. Bitch. Old gaunt hag. Or do you think that wise elderly secretary to the Minister is wrong when she shakes her head at her and whispers at her back: 'Slut!'?

The woman unhurriedly strode past the secretary, not bothering to hide a smirk. Thoughts and emotions of that foolish girl weren't a secret to her. The woman knew all about her reputation, moreover, she scrupulously crafted it herself. Results exceeded all expectations. She untied her own hands: what wouldn't be forgiven if you are known as an unscrupulous cold bitch, almost anything, really. What is taboo for a brave and honest war heroine, unprincipled slut can do on any given day, and it won't bring her much trouble or indignation from the public.

The woman slowed down a bit before a door, casually straightened her hair - this move of hers drove all men from six to one hundred and sixty mad - she trained it for that purpose. Today her hair was in a golden net with rubies all over it. You didn't have to read gossip columns to know she was a sucker for a piece of hair jewelry and they were the only gifts she accepted from her lovers. For example, today's 'wrapping' meant that yet another one of her neverending paramours probably went to Gryffindor. All her new jewels were talked about incessantly, but a witch of her rank had a right to a whim or two.

The woman walked through the Ministry to the Department of Mysteries. Sincere smiles, dutiful greetings, looks - greedy, curious, amazed, dirty, cold, and whispers behind her back. A normal reaction to her rare visits. Overhearing someone whispering:' What a slut!', the woman smiled ironically, but not without satisfaction.

Tomorrow all the magical Britain is going to discuss Hermione Granger's new lover.

note: the original work is by Чернокнижница /fic1088


	2. Chapter 2

Сколько дорог пустынных исхожено

С тем, кто мне не был мил,

Сколько поклонов в церквах положено

За того, кто нас так любил…

Анна Ахматова

I could've gone home by the Ministry fireplace, of course. It would have been faster and more comfortable. But the weather is great today, business, at the serpentarium which is called the Ministry of Magic by a mere mistake, got done faster than I expected and now I have a little time for pleasure. So I'll apparate to the Hollow just a few miles from home - I'll walk and breathe the fresh air in because I'm officially fed up with all these offices. After all, I don't let myself relax that often. Every single one of my scandalous escapades is calculated, carefully planned and given to the world in precise moments. Spontaneity is not my style. Sometimes I allow myself rash acts, of course, and as a rule, I disentangle it for a long time.

I don't even know what kind of consequences may follow my current promenade. I'm taking a stroll and everything can go straight to hell as far as I'm concerned.

Frost torments my cheeks, snow crackles under my feet, the sky is so high and it seems like it's getting higher and there's a magical mist in the air. Unmoving trees are covered in snow, the sun is shining, snowdrifts are sparkling so much it hurts my eyes, the edges of the fur hood are covered with hoarfrost from my breath. Utter bliss.

Godric's Hollow is an amazing place. An inexpressible atmosphere of coziness and fluffy happiness rules here, though a taste of bitterness is definitely in the air too. I think I understand what it is. Godric's Hollow accumulates the energy of love. Passionate and true, tender and loyal, wild and violent, careful and quiet – love. Hollow is like a cup that is full with this love to the brims, no wonder Harry's parents lived here. Is there a place in the world that is more perfect to live in, to love in, to raise children in? Love can be different though. It can be bright and happy like it was for Lily and James. It can be dark, heavy, excruciating, pulling a thin string from a solid ingot of a soul constantly – like love Severus Snape felt for Lily Evans. Godric's Hollow readily soaked up all this agony and now its' bitterness is forever here as a reminder: even the most blessed feeling can kill.

Severus Snape. Potions professor. Double spy. The horror of the Hogwarts dungeons. A tormented, jaded soul and a crushing tornado of emotions under the unbreakable armor of cold contempt. Who knew about this?

I knew. And how fucking great it was to be with you, professor. I'm trying to remember how it all began and just can't. I only remember the impossible, crazy, hungry kiss and the rough coolness of the walls of the school corridor. Snape grabbing Granger in the middle of the school — there's a reason to go crazy. But in that crazy month, everything was for us. No one wondered what I regularly forgot in the dungeons. No one was interested in why you began to find fault with my work and behaviour three times more often, giving me detentions for any reason and without reason at all. We never caught the eye of either students or teachers - sometimes only the moon caught us, but she knows how to keep secrets.

You have become a revelation and a realization for me. You showed me me. You - restrained, strong, smart, adult. And me - a tousled sparrow in your warm confident palms. You opened the bottomless depths of sensuality to me, and I could hardly believe that this was all for me.

How easily you broke my stereotypes and made me reconsider my beliefs! In disputes with you, I could scream hoarsely, proving my rightwards, and you erased my arguments to dust with a single phrase. You took my principles off me like peel from an onion, exposing my non-Gryffindor essence. You opened my eyes to terrible things, I was angry at you for this, because I understood that you were right. You were always right.

You got me addicted to quick hard sex and red dessert wine. Once, having drunk a lot of this wine, I began to share with you my plans from the series 'When the War Will End'. You listened carefully, getting grimmer with every word I said, and then said: 'Fool! Your war will never end!' I was stupefied and on a brink of tears, but when you noticed this, you spoke softer:'You are an outstanding witch, Hermione. But you are a Muggleborn witch. If you want to achieve in our world something more significant than the position of senior assistant to the junior secretary in the Ministry, you will have to take every step with a fight, every step. You will have to prove every day that you are better than others. You will climb out of your skin, but you will still be treated as an empty space. You will have to use all the cunning, all the anger, all the malice that you can only find in yourself. You'll have to forget about honesty and nobility, you will have to step on heads, lie, flatter, lay under the right people. All is fair in war, and you can't avoid this war.' Still, I cried, and then you took my face in your palms and whispered, looking in my eyes: 'You can do this. Lotus grows in mud and swamp silt, but it is always clean. You are smart and beautiful. This is a killer combination. Now you are still almost a child, but you will bloom, and men will fall at your feet, as I fell. You are a real calamity.'

You called me calamity and trouble, but you never called me joy, even as a mockery. You called me an unbearable know-it-all, your personal boggart, your mortal sin, called a rabid cat. Only once, on our last night, your stern lips whispered: 'My girl...'

You and I talked about everything in the world, but never - about us. There were no 'us'; only you and I. You and I did not have a future in which 'we' could arise. You were not going to survive the war, but I was going to. You had no idea what would happen after, but I dreamed of victory and happiness. Mismatch.

I still consider myself 'richer than all of Egypt.' After all, I saw you smiling. I saw that easy, contented movement of your lips when you realized that you were my first. I saw your approving grin when I managed (how rare!) to defend my point of view. I saw a slightly arrogant half-smile when late in the evening (or early in the morning, as luck would have it) you handed me over to Harry and his invisibility cloak so that I could quietly return to the Gryffindor Tower. My dear boys covered for us in all the ways imaginable. And the only real smile, thoughtful and sad, I saw when I said that I love you.

I didn't lie to you. I loved. But you? I never found out why you needed me. Sex? It's unlikely that you were easily seduced by virgins who could not even really kiss. Perhaps you just needed someone who would love you. But then why did you care about me, take care of my reputation and safety (not giving a damn about yourself, by the way!), taught me, instructed me, guarded me? I, the rational and prudent Hermione Granger, prefer not to sort through the phenomenon of our affair. I like to think that you loved me too, professor.

And then you died, and all that remains of you is the bitter ether in Godric's Hollow and the tormentingly slow pain in me.


	3. Chapter 3

I would have gone crazy from this pain if it weren't for Ron. My sweet, my gentle, my caring and reliable Ron. Where would I be now, if not for your strong hugs protecting me from the whole world, darling? What would happen to me if not for your confident voice: 'Hold on, Mione, hold on, dear! I will be there, we can handle it!'

You were always there. When we rushed to the Auror Department after the heat of the War. When cranking crazy multi-way operations to capture the remaining Deatheaters. When traveling around the world, looking for all kinds of criminal trash - in the jungle, in the deserts, in taiga, in the snow, you were with me everywhere, faithful and unshakable like a rock.

Contrary to general expectations, we did not get married right after the war. Four years have passed since the day of the Last Battle, Harry was already the Head Auror and I jumped my way to the dubious honor of commanding the unit of the Unspeakables - only then did we realize that it was enough of war for us. Now all three of us wanted just one thing: peace.

We got married quietly, almost secretly. Oh no, we did not love each other. But you had certain problems in your personal life, and I could not allow anyone to touch myself. And we decided that marriage will greatly facilitate our lives. Turned out to be right.

You and I created our little world methodically, diligently, as if we were building a house in which we had to live our whole lives. You stated that you were sick and tired of ducking under Avadas and running across the great wide world in search of all kinds of morons, left Aurors and joined George's enterprise. Soon thereafter, I sent my Unspeakables to distant but well-known addresses, set up a laboratory at home and buried myself in science.

What was our world standing on? Not on love, but on respect. Not on passion, but on trust. We knew each other, cherished each other, put up with each other's "cockroaches", cried into each other's vests and zealously guarded our newfound peace from any invasions. We fell asleep back to back, ready even in a dream to protect each other from any trouble. You happily coddled with the children while I was studying frantically: Medicine, then the Higher Transfiguration and the Master's degree in absentia, then without interruption,Potions and the title of Potions Master also in absentia, then Magical Jurisprudence courses. But no force could make you cook dinner and when you sat down to play chess, I threw my folios and cauldrons away to take Rosie and Hugo for a walk, sleep, or anywhere else: chess were the same for you as potions were for me, it was unthinkable to invade the religious rite under any circumstances. What was between us was more than love. It was 'we'.

Why, why did you succumb to persuasion and returned to the Auror Department? I will never believe that you missed the old days, that you missed the thriller-like work. Be that as it may, you did what you thought was necessary and was pleased for three months.

And then you died, and you left me with two restless red miracles looking at the world with your blue eyes - it was only thanks to them that I did not kill myself. You died, and the whole world collapsed, our world, the world we created and nurtured. I swore on its smoking ruins: from now on I command the parade. If life stubbornly does not want to give me peace, I myself will disturb life. The world will have to make room, and it's a question if it will be enough for me!

I stepped on heads. I ruined fates: if you don't want to do this the easy way - we'll do it the hard way. I trained myself into a high-society lioness and acquired the habits of a terrorist. I got high-ranking lovers, and any doors opened in front of me. I outlawed all my feelings not related to children and put logic and cold calculation at the forefront. I achieved recognition, high status and a lot of regalia, I made a fortune.. and a certain reputation. Thanks to it I don't necessarily always for me command respect, but I have something more important - they reckon with me. For some time now my words mean something in Magical Britain. Severus's prophecies came true. I got everything I wanted.

And even that which I could not think of.


	4. Chapter 4

For example, Draco Malfoy.

Oh, Draco, Draco... I remember your dumbfounded physiognomy when we met at the ministerial reception for "the special ones". You have heard about my scandalous return from nonexistence, of course. But we saw each other for the first time in many years.

You obviously did not expect such agility from me. You, too, were plagued by the post-war frenzy of the "witch hunt", but you were always quirky enough and able to get into any hole without soap if it benefited your family. Perhaps you were one of the few who understood where my not quite virtuous behavior came from - you used the same methods for the same purposes.

No wonder you were instantly interested in the sleek, titled bitch that I turned myself into. It's amazing that I took an interest in you. I have never been promiscuous in my liaisons, and from a practical point of view, you were completely useless to me: the Deputy Minister of Magic is not a heavyweight in the world of magical politics, and my influence at the time of our meeting was much higher than yours. And you could not use me to achieve your goals with all your legendary cunning.

Maybe it is a simple fact that I have not had a man for a long time: my authority by that time had grown and strengthened so much that I did not have to organize my affairs through bed. And you are handsome, not spoiled by virtue and rich enough to pay a restaurant bill. Therefore, when once at dinner you presented me the silver comb encrusted with emeralds, I accepted it. Being aware of the social life of magical Britain, you undoubtedly knew what it meant to give me such a gift.

You didn't suck in bed and that's why you stayed in my life longer than one night. But who would have thought that Lord Malfoy, a hereditary wizard, Deputy Minister, a respected father of the family, would manage to fall in love - and with whom! The filthy Mudblood Granger! But here you go. Fell in love like a stupid teenager overwhelmed with hormones. I became your longing, your insomnia. Oh yeah, my life's sweetest dream.

Alas, I could not answer your feelings. You started to annoy me with your completely inappropriate snobbery, and even your election as Chairman of the Board of Trustees of the school did not make me tolerate your complacency.

And then you found out about your son's romance with my Rose. Interesting kid, by the way. A rebel, a nihilist, a troublemaker, even a hippie in some ways. It is hard to believe that "as stiff as they come" Malfoys could have generated such an odd miracle. I remember when they first appeared together at the Christmas ball shocked Harry whispered in my ear: "Craving for Slytherins is hereditary!" You found out and sabotaged my appointment to the post of director of Hogwarts. A very characteristic act for a person in love, cannot argue here. It's not that I have suffered much from this demarche of yours: a couple of meetings with the right people, a few promising smiles, a little blackmail to be sure - and you are no longer the Chairman, but I am Madam Director. Do not wake the sleeping lioness, milord.

But I still have something left of you: heavy silver comb inlaid with emeralds.


End file.
